I just don't get it

Earlier this week, I had some sort of intestinal distress (read 'Jose Peppers')and because of that, had to juggle cleaning jobs all over the place. Mondays became Saturdays, Tuesdays and Wednesdays had to swap, and at one point, I had two big ass houses to clean yesterday and there was no way in hell I could do it.

The first house, a new house, looked charming enough. And, upon first glance, it looked as though it would be an easy clean, and I was optimistic I'd make it to the second house no problem, then home, then, rest, rest, rest. Not so fast.

Dust for a year or so, maybe? And, people, under foot, the entire time. What started as a two and a half hour job ended up taking almost five. And, I felt like I'd been hit by a bus, or, rather, fallen on my face on campus in front of my classmates. Oh. Wait! I DID do that, the day before!

Let's go back 24 hours. I am walking out the door of the building where my classes are held, a diet coke in one hand, my book bag slung over my other shoulder, and I was listening to my phone messages. First phone message: Georgia didn't get into Jams this semester. Shit. And then, Ka BLAM!

Down I went, and not delicately. Women my age rarely fall gracefully. My feet just gave out on me, I fell, hard on my left shoulder. Pop flying, books, phone...

Classmates came to my aid, worried aloud if I was ok. So worried I wasn't ok. I was fine, I explained, just humiliated. 'Oh, I've done that, believe me!' said one and the other two 'Oh, and me, too! Totally!' and they then helped me up, and I slithered away, embarrassed, concerned that I lost my balance and sore.

Once I got to my car, voila, a ticket. A fucking ticket. I went home, told dad I'd had a terrible day, and went to bed.

The next day, I could hardly move. No swelling, just sore as hell. This body doesn't seem to want to do what I want it to do, 24/7. I don't like it. I don't like it one bit.

As my dad says, 'Getting old ain't for sissies'.

But, falling down has to happen, right? I mean, we aren't meant to NOT fall down, ever, right? Everyone falls down, probably even James Gandolfini, or, Tom Hanks, or Julia Child. I bet they have all fallen down, right? And, they didn't do it on purpose, right?

I finally finished the house on Friday, convinced that the home owners were not going to award me the key to clean again in a few weeks. But, alas, they did. So, I had to decide if I was going to try and clean the second house, at 5:30 p.m., with the homeowners due home, at 6:00. I decided to come clean, and texted the wonderful second client and told her that I had just finished. I was waiting to receive a text back that she had fired me, but, instead, she called, and said, 'Rose, how about another day?' I offered her a date, and she said, 'that is fine. Now, go have a good weekend'. She then probably hung up the phone and said, 'Shit!' but I'll never know. I love her for being flexible.

I stopped to get something to drink and saw something interesting: a guy in a moving truck screaming at a guy in a car, screaming until his veins showed in his fat neck. It was really something. And, the truck had the name of the company on it: Professional Movers (as opposed to amateurs). No Job to big or small'. Yes, it was written like that. I suspect the guy in the car pointed out the typo and the guy had just had it, or, it was because the guy in the moving truck was parked in the middle of 19th street, on a Friday at 5:30.

I have no idea why I am writing about this. I was mesmerized by it. First, the terrible grammar printed on the truck. And, what a terrible name for a company! And, then, the guy yelling at him, calling him all sorts of names that ended in 'er' and I guess I was just impressed that these two people didn't give a crap if the entire world were watching them, in a fit of rage! I guess that is why I was mesmerized.

I don't think anything is wrong with me physically, except that I believe I have arthritis. I get very very sore, but, I also work very, very hard. I generally feel better after a good nights' sleep.

I am preoccupied today with the fact that my Sam turns 21 on Monday. I'm so excited for him. He found a job, too, in Milwaukee, working at a 'fancy restaurant' as he described it. He had to wait on people for the first time yesterday, and he said it was hard. I was pulling for him.

I have to say that what I keep thinking about, is his dad, Gordon. 21 years ago our lives changed when Sam was born. Sam nearly died at birth, not breathing at birth, and me going into labor a full month early. He spent 10 days in the nicu, then home on oxygen, then we thought he had to have heart surgery, then we thought he had to have brain surgery.... oh, I remember how terrified I was. But, now he is a handsome, sweet art student serving people guacamole in Milwaukee. I can't ask for more than that.

What would Gordon do to acknowledge this big birthday? I imagine that he would call him, and tell him how that he loved him, his 'little buddy' which is what he called Sam. And, he would tell him to be careful and to try and not get arrested on his birthday, or something like that.

I've been teary all day about this. I tried to talk myself out of feeling teary. I mean, c'mon! It's his birthday! I should be happy! He's 21! He made it! I am so lucky!

But, it's those memories, that move through my heart, under the surface and I feel the pangs of love and fear and panic and relief and the most intense love I have ever felt at the moment Gordon handed me baby Sam. Nothing, nothing felt as intense to me as when I saw my baby Sam, breathing, in the man I loved more than life's arms.

I can't rationalize away this emotion. I just can't. He's a man (on Monday). He's ok. He's hairy and employed and educated. He votes. He smokes. He swears. He thinks. He feels. He loves. He lives.

And Gordon is missing all of this. How could Gordon know what he was going to miss? He got to see his first step, his first tooth, his first day of school, heck, he even took Sam driving, right before he died.... I am so thankful for that. And, despite all of that, all of those moments, his pain was still so bad and hurt so deep, he couldn't make it any further.

I just don't get it. I'll never get it. And I have to just accept that. I just don't get it....